


Swallow Their Spells

by electroniccollectiondonut



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Airbending & Airbenders, Alternate Universe - Avatar & Benders Setting, Firebending & Firebenders, Gen, Waterbending & Waterbenders
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-26
Updated: 2020-05-26
Packaged: 2021-03-02 23:26:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 610
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24385027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/electroniccollectiondonut/pseuds/electroniccollectiondonut
Summary: A series of oneshots set in an AU where elves are benders. Tags will change as I update.
Relationships: Finwë/Indis (Tolkien), Fëanor | Curufinwë & Finwë, Fëanor | Curufinwë & Indis
Comments: 7
Kudos: 20





	Swallow Their Spells

**Author's Note:**

> In this AU, Finwe is a waterbender, Feanor is a firebender, and Indis is an airbender. Feanor is around six or seven here.

When Feanaro hears his father knock, he’s sitting at his desk holding a piece of paper over a candle and focusing very intently on not allowing it to burn. His focus falters for just a moment as Finwe enters, and it’s enough for the paper to go up in flames and burn the tips of his fingers.

It’s not the first time he’s burnt himself by accident and it probably won’t be the last, but fingertip burns hurt and he can’t stop the tears from falling. Atar crosses the room quickly, calling water to his palm from the bucket by the window as he goes. Finwe is not a healer by vocation, but he’s gotten very good at it anyway these past few years.

“Are you alright?” Atar asks after the water’s glow dissipates, like he always does when this happens.

Feanaro nods. “I’m okay. What do you need?”

“Well,” Atar says, gathering Feanaro in his arms and standing up, “I have a friend I’d like you to meet.”

Feanaro agrees easily, though he doesn’t miss the slight hesitation before ‘friend’, and they go to one of the smaller receiving rooms in the palace. A Vanyarin woman is sitting on the couch sipping at a cup of tea. When she hears the door open, she glances up and smiles brightly at Atar. Atar sits down beside her and Feanaro squirms out of his lap to get at the sweets laid out on the coffee table.

“Feanaro!” Atar chastises lightly. “We have a guest, be polite.”

Feanaro settles back on the couch, shamefaced, and the woman laughs. She picks up a pastry and hands it to him across Atar’s lap, offering a conspiratorial wink as though Finwe isn’t right there watching.

“I’m Indis,” she says.

Feanaro glances at Atar and freezes at the expression Finwe is making. He’s looking at Indis like- like- He’s looking at her like he’s looking at Amme in one of the portraits in the gallery. Feanaro doesn’t- that isn’t-

Feanaro is jerked abruptly out of his jumbled thoughts when Atar yelps and jumps up.

Indis’s skirt has caught fire. Feanaro thinks this is definitely a situation that calls for some sort of swearing, but he doesn’t know any.

A million excuses jump to the forefront of his mind, like the fact that silk is so flammable and Vanyar wear so much of it for how little it really covers and he’s still working on learning control, because no matter how Atar was looking at her, setting people on fire is wrong even if it’s by accident.

He doesn’t manage to say any of them, because Indis makes a little twirling gesture with her fingers and sucks away all the air the fire has to feed on. Her skirt is still charred, but she doesn’t even look shaken.

Feanaro bursts into tears.

Indis, for all that he’s just met her and lit her on fire, pulls him onto her lap and lifts the hem of her skirt to show him her leg, entirely unharmed. “Shh, it’s alright, you didn’t hurt anything,” she soothes, swaying back and forth in her seat.

When this fails, she casts Finwe a pleading look. Finwe coaxes Feanaro’s hands away from his face and meets his eyes.

“There’s no need to cry, little one,” he says gently.

Feanaro knows this, but Indis and Atar were sitting so close together, and if Atar hadn’t jumped up, his pants are a lot thinner than Indis’s many layered skirt and there isn’t a water bucket in this room and- Feanaro cries harder.

A little later, after he’s asleep on Finwe’s chest, Indis says, “That went… well.”


End file.
